The Devil Owns The Catacombs
by Salvatore Shan NW
Summary: Four years after Vampire Diaries ended, Fells Church is moving on. Up. And all because of one tiny company called The Catacombs. But soon people start disappearing, and eyes are turning to two members of The Catacombs staff. Elena and Stefan.
1. Chapter 1

Four years after _Vampire Diaries_ ended, Fells Church is moving on. _Up_. And all because of one tiny company called _The Catacombs_. Run by Alaric Saltzman and his fiancée, Meredith Sulez. But soon people start disappearing, and eyes are turning to two members of _The Catacombs_ staff. Elena and Stefan.  
All they want now is to be left alone and be a normal couple. Doing the stuff teenage couples do when they're in love. Because Elena's a vampire again, and she won't grow up for nobody.

But Damon's back. He's back and he's mad. Someone's trying to awaken the spirits of the Civil War, and it's _not_ going to be pretty. Especially when _The Catacombs_ rests on two lay lines.

* * *

The plot is mine. The characters and scenery (except _The Catacombs_) belong to L. J. Smith. If the plot resembles any others on FF then it's coincidental because I haven't read many L. J. Smith fanfics.

Dedicated to all you _Vampire Diaries_ fans: this is for you!  
- xxx -  
Salvatore Shan

* * *

**The Devil Owns The Catacombs**  
Chapter One: No Interruptions

_Fells Church.  
__Four years after the events in _The Reunion

Though the night blanketed the town a little more harshly than usual, it was only Elena who truly took notice. The darkness was something that seemed like daylight to her. It was as if the sun had ducked into the clouds, and everything was thrown into an unusual blackness. The streets outside were alive with noise. Fells Church had grown. Only slightly. It had only just attracted people from the nearby towns. Like moths to a flame, they came to where the vampires allegedly lived. And like any good town, Fells Church provided the vampires. Only – they were nowhere to be seen.

Elena turned away from the window, sighed and switched the microphone on, speaking into it with a tired and strained voice. "Will all of you please note that _The Catacombs_ close at ten pm this evening." She said drolly, taking her time saying each word.  
If the tourists in that stupid cave would only realise that it was fake. Would someone trash catacombs by putting loudspeakers in the chambers? And camcorders? It would completely 'ruin nature's intention', as Bonnie liked to remind her. One day, somebody would find out and Elena would be out of a job.

_Hooray_, she thought, not being as enthusiastic as she'd like to be. This whole job reeked of charity. And Elena hated charity. Aunt Judith was forever throwing dollars at her, getting her to spend, spend, spend. But Elena didn't want it. Nobody understood what she felt about money anymore. She was sick of it. She and Stefan had enough put away to buy Salvatore mansion back. _So why don't we? _Elena thought.

She turned, almost automatically, to look up at the clock on the wood-panelled wall. Half nine. Her shift ended in thirty minutes. She groaned and looked down at her lap. Her job was no fun. Alaric had thrust it on her, unexpectedly. He thought it would be perfect for her – since _she_ was a vampire and the catacombs were where vampires lived. But it was all a show for the people wearing sunny hats and holding '_Come see the vampires'_ leaflets, taken from Fells Church information centre.

Elena snorted at the thought and looked up at the many CCTV footage being fed through from the underground artificial cave. And… _there_ he was. Settling in another fake skeleton into one of the coffins. The television screen was labelled: _The Chamber_ – where Stefan spent most of his time, fixing skeletons and making coffins look authentic.

And who better to adjust a vampire's home than a vampire? Alaric really was ironic sometimes. All those simple people walking past Stefan and not even thinking for an instant that he was a vampire – _the_ vampire that drew them to this town. But of course, his uniform did throw them off the scent. As did Elena's.  
She noted how dirty her black t-shirt and jeans were getting. This office was stuffy and dusty. Her badge was smeared with sweat where she twiddled with it. No air-conditioning, no fans – not even a drinking fountain! She was dying a slow death.

Elena looked back up at the clock, willing the time to pass. Stefan's shift ended in fifteen minutes. He had the cooler job – he actually went down into the catacombs. Elena watched the TV screen intently, eyes following her undead boyfriend. He was just biding time now, fiddling with a few fake cobwebs. Elena was jealous, but she couldn't wait to get out of this place and go back to the boarding house for some time alone with him.  
"Time flies when you're having fun," she muttered, sarcastically, and stood up – ready to go do some paperwork.

* * *

The drive home was perfect. No talking on either side, but a tension there between the two that was just bursting to escape, bubbling inside each of them until their bedroom door was flung open and they could truly be alone. Stefan's face didn't hide it completely. He was trying to keep his expression masked but every now and then a familiar smile crept up from nowhere and his eyes would shine.

Elena wasn't nearly as sly. She kept twiddling her engagement ring on her left hand, smiling cheerily and hanging her head out of the Porsche, feeling the night air on her face. After four years, Stefan still had his 911. He wouldn't part with it – not easily.  
And suddenly the car was creeping around the corner and Stefan had parked just outside the boarding house. Mrs Flowers had died a year ago. She'd left the whole house to Stefan – him being her only tenant. Elena figured it was because she had no friends or family. But after so many years of knowing her, Stefan never _did_ solve the mystery of why she was so… _well informed_. About vampires, that is.

Stefan stepped out of the car and got the boarding house keys out from his back pocket. Everyone still called it the boarding house – the name stuck. Even though Mrs Flowers didn't live there anymore, it wouldn't stop being the boarding house.

Elena swung out, tossing her blonde hair back – smiling amiably. Stefan was twirling the keys on his finger, whistling to himself, as he walked up the path to the looming house. Elena followed, walking slowly – ears tuned into the street. Not a sound… They really _would_ have no interruptions.

She gave Stefan a secret smile as he opened the front door and turned to face her, his green eyes alive and bright like the sea. His wavy black hair had been straightened on a number of occasions recently and he preferred it that way. Today was no exception; despite Elena forever telling him he looked more like Damon everyday as it was, without him straightening his hair. But she didn't really mind.

He'd cut it short too. It was gelled into a Mohawk today, with small spikes that set off his green eyes as if his hair were the foam upon the waves – dark with creatures from the deep swimming to the surface.  
And all the while Elena walked, Stefan's grin grew wider and wider, just like the door he opened a little more with every step she took. When she was inside, and they were both in the corridor, Stefan let go. The door slammed shut. It clacked into its frame and the house was still.

Stefan narrowed his eyes at Elena, apparently trying to figure something out. Elena gave him a confused glance and when she got nothing back from him, she sighed and let him circle her. Finally after a minute of imitating a vulture, Stefan stopped and circled his chin with his hand.  
"Hmm," he murmured, intelligently, looking her up and down. Then suddenly he stopped all together and broke into a smile. "You're getting taller."

Elena laughed and hit him playfully on the shoulder. "Not likely," she said, trudging off up the stairs, her flip-flops slapping the steps as she went. "I'm a vampire, remember?" she called down to him.  
"How could I forget?" Stefan commented, dryly, rubbing the spot on his shoulder where she hit him. _Ouch_, he thought.

Elena was brought back to the night in the clearing, four years ago. Everyone was collapsing with exhaustion and it was clear Damon wasn't coming back. And neither was Tyler for that matter. And she'd asked Stefan to turn her back into a vampire.  
Though she hadn't felt it at the time she was one, she knew it was the shape she was destined to be in. Then she could never grow old and leave Stefan. And if they ever parted they would go to the same after-place. And she was comfortable, staying as a seventeen-year old girl that every guy fancied, and every girl wanted to be. All except Caroline Forbes – who wanted to be herself.

They were also the best of friends now. No more arguments or jealously – just understanding. They were equals, except it was Caroline who ruled the town now. She was the one who was known about beyond the inner circle of close friends and family.

Elena, however, was dead to the world. To all except the ones she could trust. Caroline, Bonnie, Matt, Meredith, Alaric, Aunt Judith, Margaret, Robert and of course Stefan. But trust didn't stretch as far as Damon. She could only _just_ have faith in him – but that wasn't the same as absolute trust. He always used to find the most terrible times to turn up. That was when he came back. Three years ago. He knew about her because he was Stefan's brother – and a vampire too. End of story.

"So," Stefan called up after Elena, smirking.  
"_So_?" Elena shot back – voice muffled. She was changing into her pyjamas.  
"So… what about the kitchen?" Stefan laughed, suddenly standing in the doorway to the master bedroom. Elena jerked up, shocked that he had appeared without her knowing. She hadn't even heard him climb the stairs. Her heart slowed and she grabbed a pillow from the bed.

"Jerk!" she cried as she flung it at him. Stefan caught it before it hit the floor, and his eyes never left hers. After a while, Elena sighed dramatically and grabbed a brush from the dresser next to the bed, running it through her hair. "What _about_ the kitchen?" she groaned.

Stefan's expression faltered slightly, but he was still smiling in an unnerving way that made Elena unable to figure out what he meant. Suddenly Stefan flashed a movie-star smile and leant against the doorframe. "I'm just wondering whether it'll be entirely suitable, that's all."  
She caught his drift immediately. "Oh no." she said, as if scolding a little kid. "I cleaned it this morning. _Not_ in the kitchen."

Stefan poked his tongue in his cheek – which he often did now when he was thinking.  
"Why not in here?" Elena asked.  
Stefan scoffed. "Be original!"  
Elena, exasperated, shook her head and sat down – waiting for him to deliberate.

"The hall," Stefan said finally.  
Their eyes locked and they both nodded slightly. "The hall," Elena repeated, grinning sheepishly.


	2. Chapter 2

Hope you liked the first chapter! I know I got a bit suggestive with Elena and Stefan, but I couldn't help it. So, without any further ado: here comes chapter two! (Wow, that rhymes!)

**The plot is mine. The characters and scenery (except _The Catacombs_) belong to L. J. Smith. Bla bla, you know the rest!**

The dedication stays the same! If you haven't read _The Aftershock_ (by me!) please read it!

Thanks  
- xxx -  
Salvatore Shan

* * *

**The Devil Owns The Catacombs**  
Chapter Two: The Worst Time To Call

So much for 'no interruptions.' They had barely got to the stage where they were both naked by the time there was the roar of a Ferrari coming down the road and it had parked right next to Stefan's Porsche. Elena recognised those footsteps all too well. She made sure she was decent, took a deep breath and stomped up to the front door.

The visitor barely had time to knock before the door was thrown open.  
"What do you think you're doing, calling at this time?" Elena spat. The person's hand was in midair, paused above the spot where the door had been and where they had intended to knock. His hair was sticking up wildly all over, but it was done deliberately – in one of those 'I-can't-be-bothered' styles. His eyes were wide and shocked.

"I, uh, need to speak to Stefan…"  
"You _can't_," Elena frowned, slowly shutting the door. "We're busy right now." She raised the hand that wasn't sealing the visitor out, and waved sweetly with her fingers. "So, goodb–"

She didn't get to finish. A hand stuck out, grabbed the door and flung it open. "I _need_ to speak to my brother," Damon said with more urgency. Elena's heart was in her mouth. It wasn't that he was being fierce and was scaring her. It was that he looked like he was going to throw up.

Slowly, she took a few steps back. As she did, Damon pushed the door open with more force and took in the view. His brother was leaning against the hallway wall, shirtless, looking lost for words – his eyes enlarged. He'd been fumbling with a packet of something, but he then quickly stuffed it into his trouser pocket.

"Damon," he smiled all too sweetly, taking Elena by the shoulders lightly and walking backwards with her. "I, uh, didn't know you were going to call. Especially at this time…"  
"We've got problems," Damon said shortly, shutting the front door behind him. Elena's eyes followed him as he stepped forward. She realised he didn't intend to leave quickly.

"Problems?" Stefan's voice went steely and his eyes narrowed. He changed in that small moment – as if a tsunami had washed across his face and destroyed Stefan forever. He seemed sober all of a sudden, awake and serious. Elena knew, then, that they wouldn't get any piece tonight.

She sighed, more exaggerated than she meant it to be, and flounced out of the hall – tossing her hair as she went. _Boys. _She thought.

For four years she'd been over Damon. He'd only ever been a friend. In fact, they were so much alike that sometimes it was scary. And Damon felt the same way. In fact, he had his eye on Bonnie. Even though she insisted that she didn't like him too, Elena knew she thought about him at any opportunity she had. And now, they were the same age. Perfect.

Damon watched Elena's retreating back and as soon as she was out of earshot, he shut the living room door, just so she wouldn't eavesdrop. The two brothers were suddenly imprisoned in the corridor – which was lit by one lone candle next to the door that burned despite all the slamming. It cast warm shadows over the walls. Red silhouettes on top of the orange wallpaper and golden border.

Damon took a deep breath, not looking at Stefan. His dark hair had grown slightly longer since the last time they'd met. It was strange that vampire hair could grow – yet they could not grow themselves. It was down to his ears, stylised like typical Hollywood actors. It made him fresh bait to all the girls in Fells Church and Damon _loved_ attention.

"Stefan, this is important," he whispered, head bowed. Stefan caught the tone of his voice and tensed up, expression grim. Damon started tapping his left foot, thinking about what he was going to say. He didn't know how to put it. It wasn't really his place to tell Stefan, but… he was family.

"Alaric called me this morning," he began, running a pale hand through his hair. The black-on-white effect made it seem eerie – that Damon was even more dead than he should be. As if he were a walking corpse and not a vampire after all.  
_What's the difference? _Stefan thought, ironically. _We're dead, either way. _But he didn't linger on that thought for long. Why would Alaric be calling Damon?

"It's about _The Catacombs_." He finally said, turning around to face his brother.  
Their eyes locked. Stefan wanted to shrink away from Damon's black eyes, but he couldn't. They were like holes in space – cruel and distant. Revealing _nothing_. Damon wasn't evil anymore, not in the sense he had been. But he'd been born with those eyes like haematite and he'd die with them.

Stefan kept his face neutral. Damon didn't care about where he worked or what he did for a living. He thought it was wimpy human custom, and that humans had no sense at all. Stefan sometimes had to put it to him that they had been human once, too.  
"Go on," Stefan said tightly, his hands shaking at his side. Even though Damon was trying to hide it, Stefan could tell that it was bad. _Very_ bad.

"People have been going missing down there," Damon said sourly, his face twisted in mock disbelief as if he were about to laugh at such a ridiculous idea. But he knew it was true. It was just a show for Stefan. "Alaric is getting some heavy feedback from his bosses and their company is thinking of shutting it down." Damon watched Stefan's face closely, to see his reaction.

Stefan shrugged. "It's what the tourists wanted, wasn't it? To see vampires. So _what_ if some get lost? The others will just think it's more realistic."  
Damon laughed at that. His brother wasn't entirely stupid. And he wasn't entirely oblivious to how cruel the world could be. But he was wrong this time. It _wasn't_ what the tourists wanted. "Stefan, I'm going to ask you a personal question and I want you to be honest."

"Shoot," Stefan said, feeling the purpose behind those words. He started fidgeting unhappily. Damon looked like a kid who'd just been told off. He was in a grudging mood – looking as if he was about to throw a tantrum. Stefan could see the muscles underneath his shirt pulsing with the need to hit something. Damon wasn't happy.

"Have you ever drunk from any of the tourists down there?" he asked quickly, regretting it straight away. Stefan blew up like a balloon. Except instead of going pink he went pale. Then a flush crept up along one side of his face. His eyes were cold and he was gritting his teeth. Damon knew he was about to have an argument with him. Not that he cared – he always had arguments with his brother. And won. But that wasn't the point. He was worried for him; worried that Stefan was going to be in big trouble.

"NO!" Stefan roared. "You know how I feel about drinking from humans! You know I would never-"  
"Okay, okay. That's what I thought. But that's not what _others_ are saying." Damon hushed his brother, waving his hands to quieten him. Stefan seemed to deflate. His lips quivered slightly and all the anger washed out of him.  
"What…? What others?" he asked.

Damon's eyes were narrowed as he looked at his brother through heavy lidded eyes. He was tired of this – there was no doubt about that. At every opportunity in that meeting room, south of Fells Church, he'd tried to put it to the company's many bosses that his brother was innocent. He'd even begged Alaric to help him, and begging wasn't his style. But Alaric was uncertain. Without Meredith there to persuade him of Stefan's ways, too, Damon had failed of getting the manager of _The Catacombs_ on his side. But Alaric wasn't just his brother's employer – he was his friend. Was Alaric's faith _that_ fickle?

Damon felt all his strength leave him. He couldn't look at his younger brother for another instant. He remembered when he was younger – before he realised it was little Stefan's fault that he never saw Mommy again – how he'd felt that brotherly protectiveness over him whenever the children of Florence picked on him for being spoilt and rich.

* * *

"_You! You leave my brother alone!" Damon cried, storming down the hill of the Salvatore Mansion. Stefan was running. Running so fast that his tunic was slipping and he'd lost his silk cap on his way. The little boy with black hair and sea-green eyes was at the double golden gates, pawing at them – trying to reach for one of the high handles. He was crying, tears staining his face and making his nose run. In the distance, a pack of boys were sprinting after him._

"_Damon! Damon, help me! They're trying to hurt me!" a six-year-old Stefan yelled. Damon started running, too, and eventually he flung the gates open. Stefan jumped through them and ended up behind his older brother, clinging onto his legs. Damon slammed the gates shut._

"_Oy! Salvatore! You stay away from my sister, you hear?" the leader of the gang of boys called. He was Damon's age – nine. He stood there in front of the gates, growling at Stefan and pointing at him threateningly. "You're too snotty to hang around with her. _Both_ of you. You think you're too high for all of us. Well _we're_ better than _you_!" he started laughing, stepping backwards. _

_Damon's eyes were narrowing threateningly. He had to speak the threat through his teeth. "You hurt my little brother again, you get hurt twice as badly. Understand?"  
__The other boy froze and stopped laughing immediately, eyes locking with those dark eyes of obsidian. He flinched at the sight of them. Then he recovered and sneered cruelly. "Farewell. '_Your highnesses'," _he spat, sarcastically, then ran off, waving. He would regret that, Damon promised. He waited for him for four years before he was brave enough to make his move. _

_The little boy was called Giovanni. He disappeared at the age of thirteen. They never found him again._

* * *

Damon was smiling to himself, cruelly. It made Stefan uneasy when his brother looked like that. "Damon? Damon, what are you thinking about?" he asked. He hadn't fed tonight – he couldn't be bothered to pry.  
Damon laughed and hung his head.  
"Just thinking about Giovanni DeTolio," he replied, snidely.

"Who?" Stefan said, scratching his head in wonder. Damon smiled again. "Oh, you wouldn't remember him. You were too little,"  
Stefan snorted at that, then remembered where their conversation had left off. "What did you mean by '_others_'?"  
Damon turned back to face him. Stefan didn't look serious anymore – he looked slightly afraid, _young_.

"There are rumours that vampires are working at _The Catacombs_ and they're the ones responsible for the missing people. CCTV shows one of the staff attacking a tourist and dumping them in one of the fake coffins. As soon as the police became interested in the case and wanted to find where the coffin was, the footage tape disappeared. Hence, they believe there are two members of staff on the team that are doing this. One attacking, one covering it up."  
Damon took a deep breath. Now, he had to say the thing it was he came here to say. The thing he didn't _want_ to say. "The blame's shifting to you and Elena." He whispered.

Stefan blinked rapidly a few times, his face becoming drawn and pale. Then automatically he said, as if in protest: "No."

"Stefan, you have to get out of Fells Church. The police are looking for you. Alaric's not giving you up – he's not telling them anything – but now they have him in custody." Damon was speaking with more urgency now. "Pack your things and go. Take Elena – take anything you want – just don't hang around here any longer!" He was mad, Stefan could tell. But Damon wasn't angry with _him_, it was at the police – at whoever thought his brother was responsible for this.

"Stefan, I mean it! They think you're a murderer! They could put you in for life! And send Elena down for assisting a killer. Do you know what people can get for that, these days?"  
Stefan was trembling. He kept shaking his head, saying 'no' over and over again. But of course it wouldn't help. Nothing would. All he could do was take Damon's advice.

"I'm begging you, get out! The police won't be here tonight, but they _will_ be tomorrow. They have evidence pointing at you two, Stefan. They've just searched the place, top-to-bottom. They've even found a _body_."

Stefan went cold, inside and out. He stopped shaking. He stopped _feeling_ any longer. There was evidence – heck, they'd even found a _corpse_! How could he argue with that? If he stayed, there was no telling what the police would do. The town knew there were vampires _somewhere_ in Fells Church. They'd been pushed to extremes before; it was only going to be a short time before they brought out the heavy artillery. _Stakes-to-go._

"Damon…" Stefan began. His throat hurt. He put a hand to his head. His palm brushed wetness out of his eyes. He hadn't realised he was crying.

"I'll smuggle you out. Put your stuff in the back seat. They have _you_ on CCTV so you'd have to go in the trunk, but Elena could ride up front with me. They have police on all the routes out of town, but I think we'll get through. Just don't pack so much, I don't want it to look… Stefan?" Damon stopped. His brother was looking at him in disbelief.

"CCTV? Me? They actually _have_ me on tape? Attacking people?"  
Damon stopped, mouth hanging open. Then, he gave a very tiny nod. Stefan felt faint. But he'd made his decision.

"Elena!"  
"Yes?" she replied from somewhere in the back of the living room. Now Stefan was concentrating, he could hear a _Tom and Jerry_ episode play on the TV.  
"We're going for a little vacation. Pack all the things you need, but only important stuff. Money, ID cards, passports…"

"_What_?" Elena stormed, flinging open the living room door. Stefan had tears in his eyes. He was ringing his hands at his sides. Elena hadn't seen him this worked up in years and without a word, gave Damon a quick glance and then ran upstairs.

"Looks like you've got what you wanted," Stefan growled in the direction of Damon, turning around and going through the door opposite the living room. The kitchen. "I need a bloody drink!"


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry that I didn't update for a while. To any of you who's been waiting for this, then this chapter is for you!

* * *

**The Devil Owns The Catacombs  
**The Chamber

_SNAP! _Feeding time. Jimmy McKinney looked down and grinned, savagely. The tourist was heavy – a deadweight – in his arms, but he paid no attention to that. Since when should he care about it? The body was gradually getting lighter and soon he would be feeding off the soul of his victim, a delicacy in it's own right.

The tourist sagged, and then was weightless in Jimmy's arms. Jimmy slowly put the bulky man down on the ground and waited for the essence of life – the soul – to stream out like steam from a kettle.  
The tourist's neck was twisted awkwardly. Jimmy hadn't killed for a long time – his techniques were not as good as they had been back in the war – but he still had some fire left in him.

To anyone who saw, he would've appeared to be an eighteen-year-old boy, dressed in uniform and looking… particularly blown to bits. Well, that wasn't the correct term. A bayonet had slashed Jimmy across the chest – it had been what killed him. The wound had been pretty deep and had almost cut him in segments.  
Luckily, his torso was still connected to his lower body and he could stalk his prey.

Upon waking he'd had the insatiable urge to feed – and what had he seen crawling a few feet away? A human – a man dressed in three-quarter-length jeans and a bright orange vest top. He hadn't even put up a fight. Pity.  
Jimmy was snapped from his thoughts by a thin trail of what appeared to be smoke escaping his victim's mouth. He hovered above the tourist's body and smiled. _Perfect_.

He felt himself absorb the man's soul – feeling the memories, the thoughts, the dreams and goals that the tourist had had. Jimmy felt a flicker of guilt, but it went as soon as it had come. When the tourist's body had stopped being weightless on the floor, and had solidified again – Jimmy picked the body up. This involved concentrating very hard and levitating the man into a coffin.

Jimmy didn't know how he knew, but he knew he could do it. On instinct. There was a thump, and the body landed into one of the makeshift coffins. And the lid slid over it with ease. Jimmy rubbed his hands together – a job well done. Then he looked around.

It was as if he were in a crypt. The place was dank and murky – seemingly a vault. Around him were skeletons hanging out of honey-comb sockets in the walls, coffins littered the floor space, cobwebs hung in the corners of the lofty room and he could hear the sounds of rats.

They sounded too fake – too high-pitched – to be real rats. Almost like someone imitating one. Of course, Jimmy McKinney had never heard of a speaker. He looked up and saw one – but he thought it was just a black box resting on the wall.

He ignored it. He ignored the rat sounds as well.

He'd been dead a long time. He didn't want to discover about what had happened while he'd been gone. And he hadn't wanted to spill more blood… but the thirst for a soul had been too strong.  
He sighed – an eerie sound to his ears. It came out raspy and twisted. He looked down. His throat had been slashed as well. _Oh_. Never mind.

"_Hello_?"  
Jimmy turned. A voice… he'd heard a voice. He felt trapped, scared, confused. As if he were about to die all over again.  
The voice echoed from down a pathway – which led to an arched doorway on the far wall. Someone was coming…

He had no place to turn to – no place to hide. Except a coffin – but it didn't want to do that. He didn't want to move.  
It turned out he'd been worrying for nothing. When the person came in, it was a girl.

A girl who couldn't see him. She was pretty. She had long dark hair that ran down to her shoulders and dark brown eyes that looked assessing and calculating. She wore a dark shirt with the words: _The Catacombs_ printed over her chest. Her willowy body was encased with dark leather trousers. Black sandals covered her feet.

"Hello?" she called again. "Stefan, did you take the late shift? Stefan? Elena?"  
Jimmy cocked his head on one side. She looked about twenty-one. And in charge. As if she owned this place. She held in one hand a torch – to Jimmy it had the same name: a stick lighted by fire it seemed. He had no idea why she was holding it horizontally. Of course, he hadn't heard of artificial light either.

"Stefan…? Is… Is that you?"  
Jimmy flinched. The girl was coming closer. He had to hide in the shadows… get away.  
"_Stefan_?"  
No answer. The girls' eyes pierced through the darkness and met Jimmy's.  
He stiffened – petrified. Then frowned. She was looking at him, but staring straight through him as if he didn't exist. _Oh yeah_… he realised. _I'm… dead…_  
The girl gave up. She sighed and turned back the way she had gone, pressing a button on the wall that threw the crypt into darkness.

It was as if the sun had gone down in a split-second. Jimmy was left alone. He trembled. His breathing became gasps. And as he looked down, he discovered why he'd been ignored.  
He knew he was dead – he'd known it from the beginning.  
But he wasn't a vampire. Or a zombie. Or anything like that.  
… He was a ghost.

* * *

Eben grinned. Another ghost up, one more to go. He already had two little ghosties feeding out of the palm of his hand, all he had to do now was get Jimmy McKinney to start killing as many tourists as he could and Eben would be… well, _ecstatic_.

It helped that he looked rather much like an angel. The routine went well with every spirit resurrected. 'I've chosen you to run an errand of God…' bla, bla, bla. They all fell for it. He would put thoughts in the ghosts' heads and they'd go off killing tourists – thinking they were sinners.

Eben laughed maliciously. It was so pitifully easily. How stupid could the dead be?  
"_Master_?" Ah. There was one now.  
Eben turned and smiled warmly at the spirit-girl. She had long blonde hair, violet eyes the colour of amethyst and a nervous smile. Her name was Penny Feather – she'd been murdered at the age of sixteen.

Her parents had been killed also. And Eben had her wrapped around his little finger.  
"I didn't forget you, Penny," he said politely, holding up a finger. "I found some more descendants of those fools who slaughtered your family."

And almost as if he'd clicked his fingers, a dark light shone in Penny's eyes – seemingly alive and growing darker by the minute. "Those black-bloods bred like rabbits," she cursed, looking darkly at her 'master'. Eben chuckled. Penny was so full of hate that she killed before asking questions.

The people she killed had no connection to her family's slaughterers. They were oblivious. And dead by the time Penny was through with them. "Forgive me for laughing, Penny. You'll find them down that corridor," Eben pointed.

Here – where he was standing – was the main Chamber. The one dear little Stefan Salvatore pawed over every night to look authentic. Eben sniffed through his nose at the thought of the vampire.  
The two of them looked too alike. In fact – they could pass as twins, had Stefan ever known Eben existed.

Eben was seventeen. He had wavy, jet-black hair and deep, green eyes. His teeth were sharp and fang-like, and his skin was pale. He was a vampire, too. It was how he could control the minds of his little followers.

Penny had left already. She'd been dead for a century. And even though her body had rotted away long ago, she still looked perfect before Eben's eyes. All except for the hatchet mark that left a gaping wound in skull. That didn't unsettle Eben. He was a vampire – he could take it.

He sighed and sat down on one of Stefan's makeshift coffins. He smiled, showing his fangs. He'd set up a murder and a body to draw the cops in. It had been easy, just… make like a vampire. Bite a human, drain him and kill him, stuff him in a wooden box and walk away.

All they'd see on CCTV was a guy with dark hair, a tall body and seemingly wearing a _Catacombs_ uniform. Courtesy of the spare-uniform laundry basket that rested somewhere in the reception upstairs. Eben grinned. He'd framed little Stefan with that one. And soon the Salvatore vampire would be heading out of town.

Eben already had a plan settled on that one. Get to Stefan quick. _Talk_ to him… And don't let him leave Fells Church alive.  
Oh no, Eben didn't just 'not like' Stefan. He hated him. Why? And how could he hate someone that didn't even know he existed? Simple.

Eben hated all Salvatores. With reason.  
A head appeared at the other end of the chamber. Semi-visible, almost like water droplets forming a body shape in the air. But there was a golden sheen soon enough where the hair would be, and the body gradually took colour.  
Eben grinned. Blood red seeped to cover the figures arms – bathing them in scarlet from the fingertips to the elbow.

Penny was back.


End file.
